Low Is A Height
by damonandelenaforthewin
Summary: "I should have let you burn." Damon-centric, Set early-mid season 2. was a originally a one-shot song-fic, but now multichapter. future chapters may also revolve around songs.
1. Making A Point

**A/N: This is a song fic based on the song, you guessed it- "Low Is A Height". It's by Great Northern, and its a really beautiful song, in a haunting sort of way,so i suggest you listen to it beforehand. It will get you in the proper mood for the story, lol. This scene is set early to mid season 2, sort of a response to my own pondering of, what if Damon decided to get back with Katherine? Katherine would probably see how soft he's gotten, and tell him to prove himself somehow. Or at least, that's something i could see happening. **

As Elena approached the Salvatore boarding house, her pace slowed. _That's odd_, she thought, noticing that the front door was slightly open. She took the last few tentative steps that closed the space between her and the ajar door, and lightly pressed her fingers to the handle, pushing it the rest of the way open.

"Stefan?' She called out, walking through the thresh hold and closing the door behind her. But no answer came. She twisted her head side to side, looking down the long hallways, her brown hair cascading around her shoulders as she moved. But there was no one approaching her from either end of the house.

She walked to the edge of the sunken living room, checking for either brother, her eyes scanning from the pillow-laden couch in front of the fire to the half-empty glass bottles of Scotch that Damon kept at the bar.

_**Drink to the sun**__. _

But the room was empty. She'd have to check upstairs.

_**We write to millions**_.

"Stefan?" She called again, grasping the wooden railing of the staircase as she made her way up.

The turn at the landing of the stairs enabled her to see the hallway at the top out of her periphery, and at first she couldn't tell what she was looking at.

"Matt?" She asked, confused.

_**You kill everyone**_

"Mattie?" She asked again, her voice breaking in a whisper. This couldn't be happening.

_**Around you…**_

But it was.

"Oh my God, Matt!"

And then Elena was flying- running up the remainder of the stairs faster than if her life depended on it- because it was Matt's that did.

Matt was lying, head to the side, eyes closed, body sprawled out and blood down his shirt, unmoving. A sight Elena had seen all too many times.

"Matt! Matt! Oh, god, Mattie," Elena continued repeating. Her hands went to his neck, trying to turn his head so she could check- and there it was: bite marks. Bloody and ugly, oozing sticky red that made her want to be sick.

_**Save yourself, from the ground you break. **_

But she wasn't sick: despite her crying and pleading, she remembered what to do: _check his pulse. Check his breathing. Is he breathing? Is he alive? CPR. Gotta do CPR. _Her head went down to his chest, as she fumbled around at his wrist, trying to remember everything she'd been taught in the safety class she'd taken in middle school.

And there it was, faint but steady: He was breathing. His heart was beating. He was alive. She wasn't too late.

About thirty seconds into administering CPR, Matt began coughing. He was awake.

"Elena-" he groaned, reaching out for her.

"Matt!"

And then she was hugging him, rocking him back and forth, closing her eyes as tears of joy came next, and muttering sentiments of how afraid she had been and how it would all be okay now.

_**From the lives you take**_.

But as she stood up, half-supporting Matt's weight on her shoulders, another flash came from the corner of her eye. Boots. And jeans. Black leather. _Damon. _

"Matt, hold up- I have to- just trust me, okay? Go to my car. Go to my car and wait for me and I'll be right behind you."

Matt nodded, not having seen Damon, who was half-hidden in shadow. Elena's eyes followed Matt as he continued down the stairs, and out of sight. As soon as he was gone, she turned.

_**I lock the door**_

"You."

Damon sauntered out of the shadows, not stopping until he was right in Elena's face. His pace was easy, his shirt unbuttoned- it was reminiscent of the day of the auction, but also of the day Vicki had died.

"Me."

Elena didn't flinch; her horrified expression met his arrogant one with all the tenacity she could muster.

"You did this. Why? Why would you do this?"

_**Spinning the dust in a room**_.

"Because I'm a _vampire_?" Damon replied, smirking, his chin still partially covered in Matt's quickly drying blood.

Another tear slid down Elena's face, and she wanted to vomit more than ever.

"Because I told him to," came a silky voice from behind Damon. A voice that was painfully recognizable. _Katherine. _

_**Still like the sun, around you**_.

Katherine wrapped her hands around Damon's torso, propping her chin on his shoulder, a wild glint in her eye as she looked Elena up and down.

"And my boys do what I tell them to." Katherine's voice was nothing but a purr, a feline bastardization of Elena's compassionate tenor.

She nipped at Damon's ear, and he returned Katherine's touch, just barely, their eyes showing all the intimacy that was needed in that moment.

_**Don't like the space of **_

_**All of our space of…**_

Elena's disgust was evident on her face, as was the pure rage. She could think of a million things to say to this- this doppelganger of hers. And Damon- he'd dashed every good notion she'd ever had for him, in one fell swoop. But she didn't have time for insults would most likely get her killed. So she kept her reply simple.

"I should have let you burn in Atlanta," She spat, her arms folded across her chest in a defensive stance. Her voice was low, full of hate, and sharper than a stake to the heart.

Damon's expression immediately clouded over, his carefree body language gone. He now held a look that, given the light blue of his eyes, was reminiscent of glass, shattering. What Elena said had effected him. What Elena said had_ hurt. _

_**And you've just become a word**_**. **

"And you," Elena continued, her eyes daring to look into Katherine's, so similar to hers, and yet so different. "_You _should have burned one hundred and forty-six years ago."

Katherine's face showed her shock as she made a small gasp of indignation; _had her little look-alike descendent really just said that to her? _

But Elena was down the stairs and running to help Matt before anything else was said.

"_Well_," Katherine huffed, removing herself from Damon and standing before him, her lower lip in a pout. "That was _rude_."

Damon looked up at her, barely aware that she was even still talking. The crushing feeling was still weighing him down, tugging at where his heart lay, unbeating.

He fleetingly wondered if he looked as lost as he felt in that moment. If Katherine's distasteful expression meant anything, he must have. She didn't approve of weakness.

"What did she _mean_, anyways? When were you in Atlanta with her?"

"It doesn't matter," Damon mumbled, leaving the room, with Katherine in it.

In the moments after Elena had spoken those words to him, he knew- this was the lowest he had ever fallen. The lowest point he had ever reached.

And not because of brutality- he'd done _much_ worse things than what he'd done to Matt. Matt had even survived.

No. This was his lowest point…because Elena had raised him up. Elena had held him to a standard higher than he'd ever been before, even in his humanity. She had trusted him, believed in him, and now...that was gone.

_I've fallen so far, _he thought, making his way back to his bedroom.

_But low is a height. _


	2. Regrets

It had been days since the incident with Elena and her friend Matt- and although Damon's rock solid veneer had been brought back up, Damon still thought about it, in his still moments, when he had time to reflect. Like when Katherine left the bed after sex, or when he was still only semi-conscious in the hours of the early morning. It was one of those moments again, and Damon let his mind wander, returning to Stefan's performance…

**Two Days Earlier**

"What the hell, dude?" Damon groaned, slumped against a wall. "What was _that _for?"

Stefan stood above him, chest heaving, pure rage on his face.

"You have to ask? You have to _ask_?" He yelled, searching Damon's face for any traces of remorse, and finding nothing.

"Ugh. This about the blonde kid, isn't it?" Damon asked, standing up and righting his leather jacket as he brushed past Stefan to the bar. "I don't know why you're so worked up about it, he's not even dead."

Stefan approached him again, tearing the glass of Bourbon away from his hand just before he had the chance to take a sip. "Okay, now I'm mad," Damon spit, giving Stefan a glare. But the younger brother only continued to get into his face.

"_You're_ mad? You put one of Elena's friends in the hospital, and _you're_ mad? Why did you do it, Damon? Wdid he ever do to you? Besides watch you make out with his _mother_?"

Damon's eyebrows rose, as he feigned surprise. "That's who he was! Knew he looked familiar."

Stefan scoffed as Damon reached for the bourbon again. But before Stefan could react to his brother's tasteless humor, he felt a small hand slide across his chest.

"Hi, Stefan," Katherine whispered, putting her chin on his shoulder, only possible because of the heeled boots she wore.

Both brothers recoiled at her touch, but in different ways: Stefan immediately moved , tearing her hand off of him and stepping away. Damon merely locked his eyes onto her, and set down his alcohol, the image of her touching _Stefan_ so intimately now ingrained in his mind_. Even after all these years, things are still the same to her_, he thought. _It's never going to be just me_.

But Katherine either didn't notice, or didn't care; she simply pouted, and flounced onto the couch.

"Still a gentleman, I see, Stefan," Katherine said, the sarcasm heavy and bitter in her voice. "And I thought you were going to love me _forever." _

Stefan seethed at her, but didn't say anything. Instead he turned back to Damon, and Katherine watched them.

"You knew damn well who he was. This isn't a game, Damon. You could have killed him!"

"He was _supposed_ to," Katherine muttered, but neither brother acknowledged her.

Damon rolled his eyes. "And my killing people is somehow news to you?"

Stefan's brows knit together in slight confusion, his hands clenched at his side, and Damon thought he was going to throw another punch. But instead he just smiled.

"You know, I really wish it was. But _no,_ it's not. I _knew_ I was right. Elena was wrong about you."

And with that, Stefan backed out of the room, shaking his head at both his brother and former love, the disgust clear on his face.

**Back to the Present**

Stefan's last words, much like Elena's before his, had actually cut Damon. Cut him right down to where he surmised must lay his soul. He didn't want to be the one who had proved Elena was wrong in him having humanity. Of him being worth saving.

But in the end, he was the only one with the power to prove that fact right or wrong. And he'd proved it, alright.

"What are you thinking about, lover?" Katherine whispered, sliding back into Damon's bed, her arms around his well-defined bare torso. He glanced at her, his reverie broken.

"You. Always you," He replied, pulling her in.

But it was a lie.

A year ago, it would have been true. A year ago, when he'd met Elena, he thought of Katherine.

But now, with Katherine, all he could think of was Elena.


End file.
